Et tu, McClellan? History's conflicted view of informers

June 02, 2008|By Julia Keller, Tribune critic

All turncoats are not created equal.

Some, we revile with an outrage that simmers for centuries: Judas. Benedict Arnold. We're repulsed by those who, once privy to private information, use that knowledge against the very people who trusted them in the first place.

But some betrayers we praise, even celebrate: The whistle-blowers who helped bring down Enron and WorldCom.

And then there are those who hover in the gray area, those about whom we're not quite sure how we ought to feel. Was Mark Felt, the FBI agent who tipped off Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward to Watergate crimes, a fink or a patriot? Do the ends justify the means?

Scott McClellan must be wondering just where he'll end up on the tattletale continuum:

Snitch or saint? Heel or hero? Rat or Rotary Club Man of the Year?

McClellan is the former White House spokesman whose book -- "What Happened: Inside the Bush White House and Washington's Culture of Deception" (PublicAffairs) -- goes on sale Monday. But for days now, the media have been snacking on the book's juiciest bits, the ones in which McClellan dumps on Bush and the push for war in Iraq. Does that make McClellan a disloyal opportunist -- or a conscience-stricken truth-teller?

A great divide

The arts don't offer much help. Sometimes, those who reveal secrets are portrayed in books, plays and films as slimy bums; other times, they are pictured as selfless champions of truth and light.

Few cinematic moments pack as much gut-punch poignancy as the point in "Braveheart" (1995) when William Wallace (Mel Gibson) realizes that Robert the Bruce has sold him out to the hated British. (You find yourself wanting to smother the little snitch with his own kilt.) Yet the Marlon Brando character in the 1954 film "On the Waterfront" is redeemed by his decision to report on shady activities by his fellow longshoremen. (You want to shake his hand and buy him a drink.)

Arthur Miller's 1955 play "A View From the Bridge" is profound in its disgust for a man who turns in the illegal immigrants he sheltered in his home. Yet in films such as "The Insider" (1999) and "Silkwood" (1983), the use of information gleaned from holding a position of trust is depicted as noble, as an ethical imperative. "Michael Clayton" (2007) derives its drama from clashing loyalties: If you suspect the bosses are bad guys, do you stick with the folks who sign your paycheck or go with your own conscience? What if it puts your family at risk? What if a friend's life is at stake?

The murky moral calculus of betrayal, in fact, is a classic trope of drama, enlivening tales such as Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar," in which a tormented Brutus -- finally persuaded that he is following the greater good -- uses his knowledge about his friend Caeser to help the assassins in their deadly work.

By now, you're probably screaming, "Motive!" You insist that what determines how we feel about tattletales is the actual inspiration for the betrayal: pangs of conscience or buckets of money? A sense of right and wrong -- or a six-figure book advance?

Yet even that distinction can be tricky. Gennifer Flowers, who offered up spicy details about her trysts with Bill Clinton, may have hoped to hit the jackpot with her salacious story, but what if the motive isn't dollars but revenge? Or ego? Or jealousy? Are those spurs any more pure than money? Says who?

We are never quite certain just where to rank loyalty on the list of human virtues. To anyone who insists that loyalty is always a good idea, the question might be posed: How about a loyal SS officer at Auschwitz?

And yet blowing the whistle on unquestionably egregious behavior is not always greeted with praise and thanks: Joe Darby, the American soldier who exposed the brutal and humiliating treatment meted out to prisoners at Abu Ghraib, was called "rat" and "traitor." Returning to the United States, Darby faced death threats -- not parades.

Jeers or cheers?

On playgrounds, children routinely are admonished not to inform on other kids; the epithet "Tattletale!" is delivered as a jeering taunt. Conversely, adults who don't report on behavior they find objectionable are derided as collaborators, as cowards no better than the crooks they protect.

"What Happened" has attracted a dense swarm of publicity, the kind of which most authors can only dream. McClellan may sell a lot of books, but some people will always wonder if he sold something else too: